Better To Have Loved
by Kin-outcast1
Summary: "And lost... and lost... and lost..." A drabble on Robin Goodfellow, based upon certain revelations from Slashback.


_**A/N:**__ I'm baaaaack!_

_So, ever since the release of _Slashback_ (and consequently the reincarnation twist that Rob sprung on us) I've been wanting to write a story on Robin Goodfellow. Earlier today, I was listening to "Hymn for the Missing" by Red, and it inspired this drabble. You may want to listen as you read… it's a beautiful song._

_Enjoy! And do remember that it took hours for me to write this, but it only takes seconds for you to review it. ;)_

* * *

Anyone who had ever met Robin Goodfellow could tell you that he had had his share of acquaintances. Whether they were the wealthy and world-famous or the poor and insignificant, Robin had probably met them, gotten drunk with them, and tucked away a wildly entertaining (and hardly improvised at all) story about them. He told these stories often, whenever he could in fact, just to show the world that he was popular, happy, and definitely not lonely.

But that was the thing about all those acquaintances… every one of them was referred to in the past tense. No one ever bothered to ask what became of these people after Robin's stories ended.

Not that Robin cared deeply for many of them. Bacchus was a fairly good drinker (Robin loved saying "fairly good" and seeing the reactions of his listeners) but not a dear friend. Aphrodite was pleasurable in bed, but they were certainly not intimate in spirit (and thank Zeus for that; the woman had all the intelligence of Sisyphus' boulder). No, many of Robin's long-gone acquaintances were simply story fodder to be flaunted about at his leisure.

He had so many of those. He did not have nearly as many friends.

And yet they were there, in his past. He did not flaunt them about nearly so lightly. Where Bacchus, Aphrodite, and others like them were hazy, amusing, and pleasurable memories… two past figures in particular inhabited memories that were not nearly so hazy (how could they be hazy when life kept reminding him of them? Over and over…), and not nearly so pleasurable.

They hurt.

Robin Goodfellow rarely showed pain, or any negative emotion, actually. Why, the mythology books themselves referred to Goodfellow as a "joyful" and "merry" being (they also often indicated his inability to commit anything more serious than a trivial practical joke, annoyingly enough). He was good for a drink, a laugh, or a night in bed (or anywhere, actually)… but that was the extent of it. Robin often laughed ironically to himself about his ability to bare any and every part of him to the passing, willing stranger… all except for his soul. But then, when one lives as long as Robin, there's just too much to bare.

He had his moments, though. He'd cried – wept, in fact – when he'd heard of Patroclus' demise, and then again when he'd watched Achilles fall.

How many times he'd watched Achilles fall… (The same man, just without the "Achilles" attached to him.)

He loved them both. The dark and the light, bonded by something as unbreakable as steel. They were the two acquaintances that Robin rarely, if ever, told stories about. They were the ones that inspired pain inside his massive and hidden soul. They were the ones that weren't really acquaintances at all. They were friends. Companions. Brothers, even.

Eternally so.

But the hardest part was the waiting, the being without them. Not that Robin Goodfellow wasn't superior enough for his own company (always the show, even when no one listens), but the years were so long… and how did he know where they were? If they kept returning to this world, his light-haired comrade and the little dark-haired fiend, how did he know they weren't living now? Perhaps hurting, perhaps looking for him, if only subconsciously. God knew he looked for them. Constantly. He knew he would recognize them when the time came.

…and it came.

Years it was that he lived by himself, gathering riches and building up a wealth of material pleasures (just killing time). And then one day, in the middle of a road trip, he got lost. It was a great annoyance, and even worse than that was – right in the middle of nowhere (except for your average pocket-picking, child-stealing bum... very encouraging) – his tire blew.

And led him right into the dark-haired one. And, as always, the other was not far behind.

He was excited, almost so that he frightened the two kids (alright, so he didn't _almost _frighten them), but in the end, he knew he had to leave. After all, his car was parked outside, and he wasn't about to become one of those child-stealing bums (because he was _not _a pervert). Fate had not decreed that their friendship should continue again… yet. (He would hold onto that "yet".) But he could help them… Zeus knew they needed the money.

He could always, always help them.

After that, Robin went back to waiting. No one could tell that something had changed …he was just as care-free and just as amoral as he'd ever been to his acquaintances, co-workers and various lovers… but something _was _different. Even if it was only a spark of hope inside an ocean of loneliness.

They were out there somewhere. And as always, he could only hope that they were alright – that he could be with them for a while before their mortality crumbled and they fell. Because just as he would always see them again, he would always lose them again too. It was his great sorrow, but he would take it if only for the joy that accompanied it. (How did the saying go? Better to have loved and lost… and lost… and lost…)

So he waited.

Killed time.

And they found him, years later. He could see them from across his car lot – the older one with the long light braid, standing with Achille's posture and grace, and the younger, dark-haired one, with his signature scowl that no other being on earth could ever successfully pull off. Not acquaintances… friends.

_Skata_, Robin's soul was showing. He hid it away and deftly pulled the "merry" – not to mention scheming and amoral – expression back onto his face. (Popular, happy, and not lonely… not at all.)

And he went to them. The time had come.

"_Rob Fellows, at your service."_

Eternally so.


End file.
